


The Right Track

by Nympha_Alba



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookshop, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nympha_Alba/pseuds/Nympha_Alba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the break-up with Will, Merlin is depressed and a little lost, and the daily commute to London doesn't help. But he likes his job at the bookshop with its weird patrons, and there's a blond bloke on the train that he happens to spill coffee on. Sometimes that's where things start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Track

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seriouslywhaat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriouslywhaat/gifts).



> Modern AU, some sexual content. Mention of past Will/Merlin.
> 
> Written for **Glomp Fest**. Thanks to **marguerite_26** for the beta and to **sabriel75** for bookshop talk!

The light was all wrong. It was too bright and there was too much of it.

Merlin disentangled an arm from the bedclothes, reached for the clock and held it two inches from his nose. It was a classic, round alarm clock with twin bells on top; it looked like something out of an early Disney cartoon. He squinted at it and then stared at it in disbelief: he had overslept. He _never_ overslept.

With a groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands. _It's all Will's fault._ Because Will never overslept, and had seen to it that Merlin hadn't either.

Will was always on time, always; Merlin had no idea how he did it. Never too early, never _ever_ late. He never missed an appointment, always knew the bus times, and when he had left Merlin three months ago it had no doubt been in accordance with some private timetable to which Merlin had no longer been relevant.

Merlin missed Will like something had been ripped out of him, something that definitely needed to be there. Will had brought order to his world, Merlin had brought some necessary chaos to Will's, and together they had been like clockwork.

Or so Merlin had thought.

He padded barefoot to the kitchen, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. When he opened the fridge it was empty -- like his bed, and his hands, and his heart.

Half-blinded by icy rain he ran to the station and managed to buy a coffee before the train arrived. He hated November, hated it, and he hated being late -- but at least there was one good thing about oversleeping: rush hour was over and there was actually room to sit.

As the coffee mug thawed his frozen fingers, Merlin leaned back and watched horizontal rain streak the windows, watched the dreary morning fly past. Concrete, graffiti, ivy, brick; repeat. He closed his eyes, rocked by the train's movements. By the time they reached the next station he was nearly asleep, but jerked awake when something bumped against his knee.

A man took the seat opposite Merlin with a murmured apology. He was Merlin's age or perhaps a little older, with wet blond hair plastered to his head and a startlingly beautiful face. Raindrops clung to his eyelashes and trickled down his neck, and beaded the surface of his dark wool coat that was extremely well cut and probably worth half a month's pay for Merlin. What on earth was someone like that doing here, on this train? He ought to be in a cab, Merlin thought, or even a limo, in the steel, glass and money world of the City. No one who looked like this, or wore clothes like his, ever boarded the train here -- or anywhere on this line.

The man leaned back as if exhausted, closing his eyes and leaving Merlin to study him unnoticed. Aristocratic nose, generous mouth with a full lower lip, strong hands resting on his thighs with the palms up as if waiting for something to fill them. Gorgeous was the word that came to mind and stuck, but it wasn't only his looks that caught Merlin's eye, but something in his demeanour -- a contradiction. He looked so powerful and yet somehow defeated, dejected -- by the rain, perhaps, or the cold morning; by the hopeless ugliness of the surroundings or by something deeper that Merlin would never know. But he _wanted_ to know, he realised, which was ridiculous. He had nothing to do with this stranger and never would. They would sit opposite each other for the hour it took to get to Paddington and then never see each other again.

Outside, more concrete and graffiti floated by, steel and brick and wet platforms, but Merlin was wide awake, worrying his bottom lip. The train jolted and made the man's head rock from side to side, and Merlin's eyes followed a drop of water that wound its way down his neck and down under the crisp, white shirt collar.

It was the first time since Will had left that he'd felt even a remote interest in anything or anyone. Everything seemed dull and pointless, like nothing really touched him. He had curled in on himself, curled around the hurt and hoped it would heal, and there was no energy for anything outside himself.

He drank deeply of his cooling coffee and watched the rain dry on the blond man's skin.

As they left the last stop before Paddington the man suddenly opened his eyes, giving Merlin no time to avert his. He started, embarrassed, and the coffee mug shot out of his hand and landed in the man's lap. The man obviously had the reactions of a Jedi. He caught the mug and turned it the right way up before it had spilt much of its content on his expensive coat. Three beads of milky coffee lay perfectly round and horrible on the tightly woven wool, not soaking in. Both men looked at them and then at each other.

"God, I'm so sorry," Merlin began to babble as he dove for the mug, retrieving it clumsily from the man's hand and miraculously keeping the lid on. "Wait, here, I have a napkin, I'll just..." When he reached out awkwardly to dab at the spilt coffee, the man grunted and snatched the napkin out of his hand. It was a cheap, thin, almost translucent thing with the name of the coffee shop printed on it, and it looked completely alien in the blond guy's elegant fingers, as if only the finest linen would do.

A few seconds later, they rolled into Paddington station.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said again as they rose from their seats. "Really. I'm not usually like this."

The man gave him a look then and smiled, and it felt like the sun came out, very locally. "It's just one of those days," he said.

And then he was lost in the crowd on the platform.

*

The rain eased a little as Merlin ran from Russell Square to the bookshop, and at the sound of the bell above the door, Gaius peered out from behind the foreign language fiction.

"Sorry I'm late," Merlin panted, realising how bedraggled he must look. He wanted to shake himself like a dog, release a cloud of water and misery and be dry and happy and ready for new adventures. "I overslept."

Gaius' eyebrows shot up. "Overslept? Really? I'm glad to hear it."

"Uh, what?" said Merlin. Gaius wasn't your average employer, perhaps, but surely no employer would be happy his staff was late?

Frowning, Gaius went up to the cash desk and rummaged around on it. "Hmm, now, where did I put...?"

Merlin began to smile. "On top of your head."

"Ah, yes." Gaius patted his head and found his glasses perched there. "Thank you, Merlin. Have you had breakfast? I thought not. There are Chelsea buns, and I just made a pot of tea."

"Gaius, you're a life saver."

While Merlin licked his fingers clean of sticky icing in the tiny kitchen at the back of the shop, he thought of the blond guy on the train, how he'd had his hands in his lap, palms up and fingers curled, as if waiting for someone to take them and hold them.

He shook himself and went back to Gaius.

The second-hand bookshop, owned and run by Gaius with Merlin as his only employee, was larger than it looked from the outside. It stretched over two floors in a narrow Georgian house and comprised a maze of small, irregularly shaped rooms, steps and stairs and nooks and crannies. One corner of the front room was a reading area with well-worn armchairs, an old, soft leather sofa and a fireplace that was always in use in winter. The customers were students, tourists, locals; anyone who happened to pass by and was curious. There were a number of returning customers, and some of these could best be described as permanent guests, like the ancient Mr K. He came in most days and sat in front of the fire, staring at the flames for hours with a strange fascination that made his eyes look ringed with gold. A pretty, clumsy Lit student named Elena came by frequently to chat with Merlin, look for sixties paperback editions of Mary Stewart and accidentally knock over stacks of books.

It wasn't what Merlin had envisioned for his life, perhaps, but in the bewilderment after moving to London from Wales it had been like finding a second home.

The day went by in a daze. Merlin found himself staring into space a lot, daydreaming like an idiot about a gorgeous stranger. Gaius only shook his head, pulled out _A Passage to India_ from Fiction, P where Merlin had placed it and re-shelved it correctly under Fiction, F.

On the train back that evening, Merlin's eyes roamed the carriage for a straw-blond head but didn't find it. He sighed and turned to watch his own reflection in the window. It was pale, tired and ghostly with dark smudges for eyes.

In bed that night Merlin lay on his back with his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling that he couldn't really see, obscured as it was by darkness. If he lay there long enough, light would return and reveal the shape of the world. It felt like a metaphor for something, something to do with the guy on the train -- that if he looked long enough, there would be an answer. _But I don't even know the question yet,_ he thought. And then he promptly fell asleep.

*

Merlin let a few days go by before deliberately oversleeping again to catch the 8.36 and see if the blond guy was on it. There had been something so fairytale-princely about him that Merlin had taken to calling him The Prince, with sarcastic emphasis, in his head. But The Prince wasn't there. Maybe it had been a one-time thing, maybe he wasn't a creature of habit, maybe he didn't have fixed times.

"The fact that I was relieved last time doesn't mean I encourage oversleeping," Gaius pointed out acidly when Merlin burst through the door.

"No, I know, I'm sorry, I really am," Merlin babbled, hot with shame. Last time had been a genuine mistake; deliberate deceit was different. "Er -- so what _does_ it mean? Why were you relieved?"

"Because the Will effect is wearing off."

Merlin blinked. Gaius went to the kitchen and returned with a cup of tea that he handed to Merlin, who took it gratefully. "Well," Gaius continued gently, "you've mostly been living Will's life up to now, haven't you?"

"I..." Merlin said and didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"You left your own life in Wales and came here to live Will's. And even if Will is a good lad and I was sorry for you when he broke up with you, I must admit I've been waiting to see what you'd do now that you were fr... on your own."

It was true that Merlin had dropped out of his uni course at Cardiff to move with Will to London, but it hadn't felt like a sacrifice. Will had been more important than anything; books could be read anywhere. Perhaps it was also true that it was mostly Will who had shaped their lives, but Merlin hadn't minded. If Will had felt strongly about something, which he did about a great many things, Merlin had been happy to let him make arrangements.

Over in the corner, Mr K sat fixing Merlin with his strange unblinking gaze. Merlin shuddered and went to take care of some tourists who had just come in.

*

Merlin had worked a long evening going through several boxes of books that had come in that day, and now he was half asleep in his seat, lulled by the rhythmical noise of the train and the murmur of people talking. Strange, hazy half-dreams were beginning to form behind his eyelids but he shook himself awake. He hated sleeping on trains and planes. Suddenly he spotted a blond head a few seats away, and his sleepiness was gone in a second. Heat rushed to the pit of his stomach as he stared at the back of The Prince's bent head as if he wanted to bore holes in it. His heart began to hammer and he felt ridiculous. He'd been waiting for this, and now what? Well, now nothing. He couldn't see The Prince's face, and he couldn't exactly go up to him and say "hi, sorry I spilled coffee on you last time, can I just sit here and stare at you?"

If he'd been a normal person he'd have found a conversation opener, he thought bitterly, but he was awkward and shy at the best of times and no one who looked like The Prince would ever want anything to do with him.

When they reached The Prince's station and he rose from his seat, he started when he saw Merlin. At his curt nod of acknowledgement Merlin nodded back, feeling his heart skip and heat bloom along his cheekbones. _I'm like a schoolboy with an embarrassing crush,_ he thought, but at least he knew now that it wasn't a one-time thing, The Prince being on the train.

*

Merlin hadn't honestly looked forward to anything for a long time -- not since he and Will had broken up. He still had a hard time feeling enthusiastic about anything; everything seemed so empty and meaningless. There was simply nothing in his future to look forward to, only an endless succession of murky days where everything was routine and nothing would ever change. But the small chance of seeing The Prince again brought him a sliver of hope.

The streets of London were garish with Christmas lights and shop displays, rubbing Merlin's face in the joy and expectation he was supposed to feel. He went home to Ealdor for Christmas, and when Hunith saw her son, a furrow appeared between her eyebrows. She didn't ask too many questions, just the right amount to know that Merlin was miserable.

His uni friend Freya called and invited him to her New Year's party, but he wriggled out of it with a vague story of a bad cold. He wanted to avoid questions and explanations, and most of all he wanted to avoid Will, who would most certainly be there. Instead Merlin spent a quiet New Year's Eve with his mother, feeling either very young or very old.

Winter seemed endless.

*

On a dark January morning Merlin got up painfully early and caught the 6.11 to help Gaius with the yearly inventory. Yawning, he sat watching the familiar blur of concrete and graffiti slide by the window, drearier than at any other time of the year. The train stopped for thirty seconds and jerked back in motion, and suddenly he was there, The Prince, with his blond hair and gorgeous mouth and his quiet air of money. He nodded at Merlin, took a seat across the aisle and lost himself in the Financial Times.

Rude as it was to stare, Merlin couldn't take his eyes off him; the broad shoulders, the strong profile and the light that outlined his hair with pale gold. There was sadness at the corners of The Prince's eyes and a stiffness in his posture, as if he was carrying something that was too heavy for him and he was holding himself upright with an effort.

The Prince looked up then, as if he knew he was being studied, and his eyes were very blue when they met Merlin's. A wave of blood shot up into Merlin's face, stinging hot, and he quickly looked away. When he dared a glance again, he thought he could detect a faint blush on The Prince's face as well -- but it was probably only a reflection of the salmon pink of the Financial Times.

*

"You're an early bird these days, Merlin," Gaius remarked.

"Um, yes," Merlin mumbled, "I get more work done that way."

The truth was he'd discovered that the 6.11 was The Prince's regular train. They hadn't talked after the first day when Merlin had spilled coffee on him, but they acknowledged each other with a nod and sometimes even a smile. For Merlin, that small exchange was what carried him through his days. He was aware how weird it was to feel so strongly about a stranger, but seeing The Prince was important to him, and nothing but Will had been important for far too long.

Gaius looked at Merlin over his reading glasses. "Did something happen," he asked mildly, "or is it just that the mourning period is over?"

Merlin didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Um," he said. "No, nothing special, I suppose, I just..." He reached out to touch a finger to a small bunch of snowdrops and Siberian squill in a glass on the cash counter, reminding himself that winter was nearly over and light was returning. "It's so stupid," he said, "but I kind of... met someone."

"Oh?"

"Well, not met, exactly. We're on the same train in the mornings and...I don't know, there's something about him. I want to talk to him, I want to know who he is. He looks so... dejected sometimes. And alone. I have no idea if he is, of course, but..."

"So something _did_ happen," Gaius said, looking pleased. "And whatever it is, I think it's doing you good. You look much brighter than you did only a few weeks ago. Not that that's difficult," he added.

Over on the leather sofa, Mr K had jerked awake and was peering at Merlin.

"Oh, yes," he said, "things are happening. Things have begun to stir."

His voice was surprisingly strong and smooth for someone that old. Merlin shuddered. He couldn't stand being under the scrutiny of these two old men for a second longer, not with the image of The Prince flickering at the back of his mind like fire.

"Er," he said, "I'll go and... um, sort out those books that were shelved in the wrong place yesterday." And he fled, wondering what Mr K could possibly have meant.

*

"What's the matter, Gaius?" Merlin asked, straightening his back from where he'd been crouching by the bottom shelves. He shook out the duster and sneezed. "Is something wrong?"

It had been a very quiet morning. Gaius was reading the paper by the fireplace, and now he sat staring at it as though he'd seen a ghost.

"Oh," he said, as if he'd just realised Merlin was present, "no, not at all. I saw a picture of someone I... someone I haven't... someone I used to know. That's all."

Merlin sat down beside him, leaning over to see. "Billionaire's Battle for..." he read. "You know _Uther Pendragon_?"

"I used to work for him," said Gaius darkly, "a long time ago."

Merlin didn't reply. He stared at the paparazzi-ish photo of Uther Pendragon, business tycoon and risk capital investor, but didn't really see him, because there was someone else in the photo, too. Half hidden behind Uther was a younger man, blond and handsome and dressed in a sharp business suit, turned away slightly to look at something off camera, outside the frame. It was The Prince.

 _Uther Pendragon leaves The Avalon Vineyard with son Arthur_ , the caption said.

It was like being punched in the stomach. _Arthur Pendragon._ So he really was a prince, of sorts, and so out of Merlin's league it wasn't even laughable.

Gaius gave him a worried look. "What is it, Merlin? You've gone quite pale."

"It's just," Merlin said with cold lips, "that this is the bloke on the train. The one I told you about. The one that I..." His voice trailed off. The one that he what? Wanted to kiss, to get to know, to wake up next to...? The one he was helplessly in love with without knowing at all?

"Arthur," said Gaius slowly. "His mother was a lovely woman, very beautiful, and as a child he was the image of her. It seems that hasn't changed."

Merlin looked away from the photo. He felt wrung out and dangerously close to tears. It seemed he'd had high hopes for The Prince, higher than he'd realised, and now that his dreams were shattered he just wanted to hide, mortified. How could he ever have thought...?

He became aware that Mr K was looking at him from the other side of the fireplace with a horrible, expectant light in his eyes.

"Young Pendragon, is it?" Mr K rubbed his hands together with a rustle of dry skin. "Well, well!" He leaned forward and pointed at Merlin with a gnarled finger. "I could say something to you. I could say something about the sides of coins."

"I -- I'm sure you could," said Merlin, startled, and wondered why that voice always made him shudder. He reminded himself not to pay any attention to Mr K, who was clearly a bit demented.

Just then the bell above the door tinkled and made them all jump. There was the thud of something heavy falling, followed by Elena swearing. Merlin shook his head and got up to help her.

*

"Tell me about the Pendragons," Merlin said to Gaius that evening when the shop had closed.

For a moment Gaius looked like he wanted to say no, but then he sighed. "Let's get some takeaway," he said, "and I'll tell you."

"I used to work with Uther Pendragon," he explained over food, "but I didn't approve of his methods. He started witch hunts to destroy people he disliked, or who had something he wanted. The reason I stayed with him so long was Arthur. His mother died when he was born, and I always felt that he needed another constant in his life than his father, who was very demanding and rather cold. I tried to... counteract that, I suppose you could say. Arthur always tried very hard to please his father and live up to expectations and that probably never changed. I still feel guilty for leaving but I couldn't stay." Gaius sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "You shouldn't be afraid to talk to Arthur, Merlin. You could use me as an excuse, if you like. I'd quite like to see him."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat and his face went hot, but he only nodded.

"After all, I have Uther to thank for a lot of things in my life," Gaius admitted reluctantly. "He gave me some very sound advice on investments and it made me a rich man. You may not have guessed, Merlin, but I'm not dependent on the shop to make a living. To be honest, it doesn't pay, but it was a long-time dream of mine to run a bookshop, and my other investments more than cover for the loss."

Merlin stopped chewing. "If the shop doesn't pay, surely you can't afford employees," he said stiffly. "I don't want to be a charity project."

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. I wouldn't be able to run this place without your help and you know it. I love to be surrounded by books, I love to provide a haven for odd elements who have nowhere else to go. Where else would Mr K be allowed to sleep in front of the fire every day? Humble as my dream is, Merlin, you help me live it. You're making an old man happy. Surely you deserve a salary for that."

Merlin drew a breath to speak but no words came. He finished his chips that had gone cold and got up from his chair. "I'm going home," he said. "But I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Merlin. And do talk to Arthur."

It was chilly outside but with a distinct touch of spring in the air. For the first time in months, Merlin didn't want to go straight home and lock the door behind him. Instead he sat at a corner table in a pub with a pint, trying to digest what Gaius had told him. Looking around at people drinking, chatting and laughing, he realised he hadn't been anywhere but home, work or the supermarket for ages, and the only one he really ever talked to besides Gaius these days was his mother. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't _him_. It needed to change.

After a second pint he got on the tube and arrived at Paddington in perfect time to catch his train. He chose the second carriage out of habit, the one where The Prince, no, _Arthur_ , used to sit, and pulled a book from his coat pocket to read away the time. As the train was due to leave, someone flopped down opposite Merlin and their knees collided. He looked up.

"Sorry," Arthur said. "And hello."

His mouth was wine-stained and his eyes a little glassy but he looked happy rather than drunk, and more relaxed than Merlin had ever seen him. The doors slid shut with a sigh and the train pulled out of the station, slowly, laboriously.

"Hi," said Merlin, his mouth dry.

Arthur smiled, leaned back and closed his eyes, and Merlin didn't want to look away. But he couldn't allow himself to stare, either, so he looked at Arthur's reflection in the window, at the fainter copy of Arthur's smile.

"A good night?" he asked softly and jumped at his own voice.

_What am I doing? Shut up, Merlin. This is Arthur Pendragon, rich, gorgeous, probably a player, totally out of your league..._

Arthur opened his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "It's been a pretty good day, actually. I've been making decisions left and right."

Merlin's heart sped up. He couldn't believe they seemed to be starting an actual conversation after all the looks and smiles. "About what?"

"About my life."

"Is that why you're..." Merlin waved a hand to indicate Arthur's clothes.

It was the first time he'd seen Arthur in anything but a suit. In jeans, t-shirt and hoodie he looked like a uni student, softer-edged than the business man, younger, more vulnerable. More approachable.

"Not really... but maybe that's part of it," Arthur said. "I also made a decision to talk to strangers."

Merlin grinned. "Good decision. I'm Merlin, by the way."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, and then he laughed. "I should have guessed," he said. "I'm Arthur."

When they neared Arthur's stop he leaned forward, looking almost sober and, improbably, a little nervous.

"Merlin," he said, his voice low but perfectly audible underneath the noise of the train, "if I miss my stop now, will you offer me a place to sleep?"

Merlin blinked and tried to swallow his heart that had jumped into his mouth. In his tiny flat, there was no other place to sleep than his own bed.

"Yes," he said, heat spreading over his face and down his neck. And again, to make sure: " _Yes._ "

There was a light in Arthur's eyes at that, and something curled hot in Merlin's belly. With those few words, everything had changed. There was no going back now, and Merlin didn't want to go back. From here on it was all forwards.

The train came to a halt at Arthur's stop, the doors opened and closed and Arthur was still in his seat. Merlin glanced at Arthur's mouth and shivered with anticipation, wanted it on his skin, on his own mouth. God, he hated this train line; it was too far between stops.

When they walked from the station their shoulders kept bumping, and Merlin wanted to take Arthur's hand but it would be too much, too romantic. This was a one night stand, he couldn't let himself forget that.

But that wasn't what it felt like. The way Arthur looked at Merlin didn't feel practised or even flirty, not like something he'd give someone just to pull them. It felt like he looked at Merlin and _saw_ him.

They kissed in Merlin's tiny hall without switching on the light, much gentler than Merlin had expected. Arthur held Merlin's face in his hands like it was precious and Merlin's fingers found their way into Arthur's soft hair. Perhaps, if he let Arthur into his loneliness, he would be allowed into Arthur's.

"I've wanted to do this for quite some time," Arthur whispered and shifted his hips so Merlin saw stars.

"Me too," Merlin said against the warm skin on Arthur's neck. "Bed?"

They stumbled to the bedroom, not wanting to let each other go, and Merlin was struggling to get his head around the fact that this was _Arthur_ , The Prince, responding to every touch of Merlin's fingers; it was Arthur sliding his hand over Merlin's stomach and under the waistband of his jeans.

"You're gorgeous," Arthur murmured in the light from the bedside lamp as Merlin's shirt fell to the floor. "I knew you'd be."

Merlin almost laughed. He was pale and skinny, all angles, not exactly anyone's dream -- and still, with the way Arthur looked at him, he believed it.

He hadn't been touched for so long, and he didn't know if he'd ever been touched this way, with such longing. Arthur's hands were everywhere, warm and sure, like he was trying to feel all of Merlin at once; Merlin ran his fingers over smooth muscle on Arthur's back. Arthur slid down Merlin's body until his tongue found the tip of Merlin's cock, and teased and played and demanded until Merlin was shaking with the strain of keeping his hips still and not pushing up into Arthur's mouth. He didn't even try to stop his embarrassing moans.

"Can I fuck you?" Arthur whispered against Merlin's hipbone, and a hot shiver ran all the way up to Merlin's neck.

"Yes. God, yes." He reached out to point at the drawer in the bedside table. "There's stuff in there."

His eyes fell shut and he lost himself in sensation as Arthur slicked him open and pushed slowly inside. Then Arthur stilled, his arms trembling as he held himself up above Merlin, and a drop of sweat fell from his face on to Merlin's. Merlin was gasping, already close, so close.

"I won't last," he whispered, embarrassed.

Arthur leaned down to kiss him then. "Good," he breathed. "Me neither."

And he began to move, not taking care to be gentle any longer, and Merlin didn't want him to be. When he came he gripped Arthur's shoulders so hard it had to hurt, and Arthur moaned into the side of Merlin's neck as he followed him over the edge.

*

"You know why it's good that we didn't last?" Arthur asked before they had even stopped panting.

Merlin shook his head, running a fingertip from Arthur's temple to his jaw.

"Because it means we'll have to do it again, slower. We need to practice." Arthur turned and caught Merlin's earlobe between his teeth. "I really think we need to practice a lot."

Merlin laughed, relaxed and warm and happier than he'd been for longer than he could remember. "I think so too. But not now." He couldn't hold back a yawn. "Stop talking and go to sleep."

"Bossy," Arthur murmured and was asleep in less than three seconds.

*

Merlin woke up from Arthur trying to slide out from under his arm unnoticed.

"Don't leave," he said before he was even awake.

"Bathroom," Arthur replied, and Merlin could hear his smile.

When they woke up the second time the light had changed, and the alarm clock on the bedside table looked reproachful.

"Oh god, I have to go to work," Merlin said, but Arthur was so warm and hard and gorgeous that he didn't even make an attempt to get out of bed.

"Not yet," Arthur said and did his best to make Merlin as late as possible.

"It's strange," he said much later with Merlin's head on his chest and his fingers buried in Merlin's hair, "but I feel like I know you."

Merlin, listening to his voice coming from two directions, replied absent-mindedly: "You do, in the Biblical sense."

Arthur was silent for two seconds before he laughed. Then he said: "In every sense."

"I know," said Merlin and sat up. "I feel the same. Not like I really _know_ you, but when I saw you on the train the first time I felt like I _needed_ to know you. And you looked so sad. I think I fell in love with you then and there."

Arthur looked surprised and Merlin bit his tongue. It was much too early to talk about love, and stupid, too. How could you love someone you'd barely talked to? But Arthur pulled him down into a kiss, a very soft one.

"I fell in love with your coffee-spilling skills," he said. "That and your backlit ears."

Merlin yanked the pillow from under Arthur's head and shoved it in his face. "What are you doing here anyway?" he asked. "I mean, not here in my bed, obviously, but why are you on that train every day? Why do you live out here?"

Arthur sat up, and the dejected look that Merlin had seen the very first time was back. "To get away from my father," he said. "To get away from everything he wants me to be, to do."

Merlin kissed his ear, breathed in the scent of his hair. They would talk about Arthur's father later. "You look like you should have a Canary Wharf apartment," he said.

"I _have_ a Canary Wharf apartment," Arthur replied, deadpan. "No, it's true, I really do. And I hate it. I can't tell you how much better I like it out here. Where are you going?"

Merlin slid out of bed. "To work. And if you're going to be AWOL today from whatever it is you do that you can have a Canary Wharf apartment and not use it, you should come with me. My boss wants to see you."

"Your boss?"

The sun came out and fell through the half-open blinds across Arthur's bare shoulders, painting him golden and leaving Merlin stunned. He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe his luck.

"A man named Gaius," he said.

Arthur lifted his head and looked at him. "Gaius? I used to know a man called Gaius. He worked for my father when I was a kid."

"You'd make him very happy if you came to say hello."

Arthur's eyes turned soft. "Then I will," he said, and added quietly: "I've missed him."

*

"I hate buttons," Arthur said as they were getting dressed. "It's a pain to wear Oxford shirts and three-piece suits when you hate buttons."

Merlin slid his fingertips down Arthur's t-shirt covered chest. He looked very fairytale-princely even in jeans and hoodie. "Then you should have a job where you don't need to wear them."

"I'm beginning to think so, too."

Merlin smiled at him. He couldn't believe how good he felt; he was warm all the way to his fingertips and winter felt very far away. Something like tenderness, like happiness or hope, was unfolding in his chest, and just as Arthur began to look bemused under the scrutiny and asked "What?", Merlin leaned in and kissed him.

*

Concrete, graffiti, ivy and brick rushed past the window as they sat side by side on the train. Merlin glanced down at Arthur's hands that lay in his lap, palms up and fingers curled, waiting. He slid his own left hand into Arthur's right and interlaced their fingers, and when Arthur turned his head and smiled, the whole blue sky was in his eyes. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Other Side of the Tracks (The Right Track Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746929) by [Clea2011](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clea2011/pseuds/Clea2011)




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